


The Gold Wrapped Box

by duh_i_read (duh_i_write)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Christmas, F/M, Holiday, Mild Gore, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duh_i_write/pseuds/duh_i_read
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a joke, surely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gold Wrapped Box

The box was wrapped in shimmery gold, frond print curving over the paper. The sliver bow that once was knotted on top lay discarded on the floor.

“This is a prank,” his wife said, “some kind of tasteless joke.”

“I’ll take it back,” he said, grabbing the poker from the fireplace to push the top of the box back on. Someone had fetched a paper bag, and he pushed the box in. His daughter handed him his coat, the camel hair one, and he wrapped his new silk scarf around his neck.

Taking the bag by the lip, careful not to let the package touch him in any way, he hurried out the door, the wind chilling his face as he stepped into the waiting cab. On the ride to the department store, he repeated to himself that it was just a joke. That_ thing _in the box wasn’t real.

The inside of the department store was madness, crowds of harried shoppers with bags over their arms. Somewhere a child was screaming, a high pitched screech; he wished he could make such a noise in public. At the elevator, several sharply dressed men and women waited. He just managed to slip in, riding down to the basement.

How he ended up at this gift wrapping counter, at the far corner of the basement, separated off the main floor, he didn’t know, only it remained as empty as it did the previous night.

It was the same old women, with the oddly colored eyes and the deep wrinkles around her mouth, standing amidst the shiny papers and ribbons and labels. The only other person around was a young hoodlum, clearly agitated with the old women.

“—Do with this? Because I don’t, an' my girl will tan my hide if tomorrow isn't _perfect_.”

“I’m sorry sir, but we are not responsible for your lost items.”

Of course! This was the hoodlum’s box. He looked the type, with his unnaturally shaded hair and distressed pants and his dark makeup.

“Excuse me,” he said, approaching the counter, “I think I have your gift by mistake.”

He put the paper bag up on the counter. Up close, the paint around the man's eyes and the scratches on his cheek made the hoodlum look even more thuggish. Until he ripped off the paper bag and looked in the box. Then his face softened, and he felt a twinge of sympathy, because even this thug lived in fear of disappointing his lady. Covering the box, the young man handed him an identically wrapped box, the gold paper hanging in shreds and stained a little on one corner.

“Can’t thank you enough, mate. Would have been a very rough Christmas without this."

"Do you want that gift wrapped?" the old women asked.

"No, best do it myself. Don't want anymore mix ups."

While the old women rewrapped his gift, he watched the hoodlum saunter off. The old women didn't charge, and he took his neatly wrapped gift, now in sliver with green holly leaves, and hurried out of the department store.

Snow had started to fall in huge flakes, and he took a moment to take in sight, the storefronts and cars dusted in white. Hailing a cab, he thought that the city looked almost tame, like a rough table covered in cloth. He though of returning home, of hanging his coat up and slipping into his pajamas. He though of his wife's face, when she opened her gift.

What he did not spare another thought to: the hoodlum's package, its expensive ring and bracelet placed on an uncanny replica of a severed hand.


End file.
